Washed Away

K Hanna Korossy

Written: 1999

Seasoned Timber 3 (2004)

  The first fat drops were beginning to come down as they reached the car, splashing on the rusty metal with a metallic drumming that was completely out of place in the woods.  Dusk was beginning to settle in, and the dimness had masked the collecting rain clouds until it was nearly too late to pack up fishing gear and hurry back to the trail before the shower.  But with a basket full of fish, a day gloriously free of work and stress, and the contentment that came from remembering what they had and just how fortunate they were, there were no regrets. 

  Starsky wasn’t usually the outdoors type, but apparently it hadn’t occurred to him to argue when Hutch had mentioned the day trip.  In fact, the blond would have sworn his partner was looking forward to it even more than he, and wondered more than once at the cause.  Not that he was complaining.  It felt like it would be a long time before he’d be tempted to complain about anything again. 

  With the shooting at Giovanni’s only a scant two weeks behind them, the sling and Starsky’s lingering weakness and fatigue constant reminders, they had both needed their own escape from the shadows of “could have been.”  Starsky was resting and recovering physically, and working through his brush with death.  And Hutch through his own severe shake-up at his partner’s near loss.  He suspected Starsky had been thinking about Hutch’s welfare as much as his own when he’d agreed to the idea, nature usually being Hutch’s balm. 

  But whatever the cause, he’d come, and they’d both had more fun and relaxation than even Hutch could have hoped for.  It was with a real peace that he’d packed up their fishing stuff under the threatening skies and walked back to the car with his partner. 

  Being together healed almost as much as time. 

  But he was glad they were going home now.  As needed as the day had been and as healthful the fresh air, it had used up all of Starsky’s rebuilding strength.  He was moving slowly by the time they reached the squash, unwilling to accept help but sinking with a relieved sigh into the passenger seat.  Hutch grinned at the look of tired contentment as he crossed around to his side and got in. 

  “Looks like I’m going to be enjoying these fish for dinner all by myself tonight,” he cheerfully provoked. 

  One baleful blue eye opened to look at him.  “I’m not turnin’ in yet.  And who gave you permission to eat my fish?”

  Hutch’s eyebrow rose as he started the car and backed it up to turn around.  “Your fish?  What about the one I caught?”

  He got a grin that was no less mischievous for being sleepy.  “That little guppy?  ‘S all yours.  I don’t eat baby fish.”

  Hutch grimaced.  “It was not a baby,” he muttered good-naturedly under his breath, not able to mind much that he’d clearly lost this one. 

  Starsky’s smile just widened in recognition of the point. 

  The rain began to fall harder, making the road almost invisible past the darkness and curtains of water.  The LTD didn’t seem hampered by the mushy road, but Hutch leaned forward to concentrate on the fluorescent trail markers that edged the trail.  Starsky dozed next to him, lulled by the movement and humid warmth of the car. 

  Trouble, when it came, brought no warning. 

  The pop of a tire blowing was almost masked by the sounds of the downpour, but the steering wheel immediately lurched in Hutch’s hand, skewing the car sharply to one side despite his attempts to straighten it.  The next moment they were already sliding off the road, slicked along by the wet grass and mud, just missing a large tree.  And then, with a jolt, the car splashed hard into the small river that wended its way by the road. 

  For a stunned second or two, there was silence except for the sound of the water--the river and the rain.  Then Hutch shook himself, quickly turning to his passenger. 

  “Starsky, you all right?”

  He certainly seemed to be, moving with the hesitation of one overcoming a shock, not of one who was hurt.  Still, the lack of an immediate response ratcheted up Hutch’s concern and the volume of his voice. 

  “Starsk?”

  “Yeah...yeah, I’m okay.”
  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”  Eyes as worried as his own must have been, turned to carefully look him over.  “You?”

  It only then occurred to him to check, and Hutch gave himself a quick shake.  His chest and head hurt a little, but, “Just bruised.”

  “I think the squash has had it, though,” Starsky said solemnly, straightening out with careful movement in his seat.

  That seemed to be an understatement.  The river level was a fourth up the windshield already, the whole hood of the LTD under water.  Water was coming in through the rusted floorboards, already climbing up Hutch’s legs.  He belatedly thought of the radio, but a glance revealed it was already thoroughly wet.  A quick try proved as much.  “Nothing.”  He thunked the mike down with disgust. 

  “Uh, Hutch...”  Starsky was lifting a foot out of the rapidly rising water and looked pointedly at it and then at his partner. 

  “Right.”  Hutch stayed long enough to make sure Starsky could get the door open one-handed, then he was shoving open his own.  The driver’s side was facing the current and it was harder to force, but better his side than Starsky’s. 

  The next minute was spent in blind and deaf synchronicity as they struggled up the bank of the river against the driving rain and slick ground, each making sure the other was safe before Hutch turned to retrieve what he could out of the trunk.  It was precious little; most of the supplies they carried routinely were for city-bound emergencies.  Still, the blanket was a must, stuffed into a plastic bag, as were the emergency supplies and first aid kit.  He slammed the trunk door shut harder than necessary, frustration mounting as their situation began to sink in.  About the only bit of good news seemed to be that the LTD was mired solid and didn’t seem to be slipping any further into the water.  But it wasn’t taking them anywhere that night. 

  The realization of their predicament hit harder as he turned to look at his partner.  Starsky was huddled into his jacket against the rain that had already matted his curls down, looking about as energetic and healthy as the victim of a drowning.  His sling was also soaking through, and he was hugging the arm to himself in a way that made Hutch suspect he’d at least jarred his shoulder in the crash.  It had already mended enough that the pain was negligible with aspirin, but the bottle was back at his place.

  “How far?”  Starsky echoed his thoughts, glancing up the slight embankment at the road.  Night had settled in full, making even that slight distance hard to see. 

  “A few miles to that little town we passed on the way up, I think.”  Hutch had to yell to be heard over the sound of the rushing water next to them and the deluge coming down on their heads.  “We should be able to walk it.”  He nearly winced as he said it.  Healthy, it would have been a nuisance but not a serious problem.  With Starsky still recuperating, it seemed 100 miles distant.  Soaking wet, muddied, and cold. 

  If the thought deterred his partner, it didn’t show.  Funny that the brunet was both the optimist and the realist of the two of them.  If there was something to be done, he simply did it...unless, of course, it was something minor, in which case he moaned about it a considerable bit throughout.  Not a word now, though, a sign of his fatigue and the need to save energy for the trek ahead.  Hutch grew all the more determined to keep an eye on his friend.  When Starsky got like that, he would literally go until he dropped in his tracks. 

  Hutch sighed, then squared his shoulders, running up the incline in three quick bounds to keep from getting stuck or slipping.  On top, he braced himself, then reached down to help Starsky up as well.  Drowned rats they were, the both of them.  He sighed again at the thought as he hoisted the bag. 

  With a final regretful glance at his beloved car, Hutch set off down the road, a little bit ahead of Starsky to lead the way and buffer some of the wind and rain, but conscious of the determined, heavier steps behind him.  Hoping hard that town was even closer than he thought. 

  Time loses meaning during an ordeal, but Hutch kept track of it by those increasingly faltering steps.  As time wore on and the two of them grew wetter and colder, Starsky’s trudging footsteps slipped or hesitated more and more behind him.  It was definitely not an ideal set of circumstances for a man recovering from being gun-shot only two weeks before.  Hutch turned regularly to lend a steadying hand or a smile of encouragement, but it was growing harder for them both to keep going.  Even talk seemed too much effort, and if it did so to him, he didn’t want to think about how hard it was for his partner. 

  Starsky looked even colder than Hutch felt, his down-turned face gray and vacant in the glimpses Hutch had gotten of it.  He hadn’t even tried to say a word since they’d started, first just from fatigue but slipping increasingly into a detached lethargy that worried Hutch.  It seemed all his partner’s energy was going now into simply moving his feet and staying upright, and he hardly seemed to notice when Hutch finally fell into step next to him and took hold of his good arm to help. 

  They had to find shelter, pure and simple.  Hutch still had no idea how far away the town was; there was no sign of light among the trees ahead despite how much he strained to see some.  Nor were there any homes or structures of any sort he could remember on the way up.  The flashlight he retrieved out of the emergency kit and turned on every once in a while didn’t illuminate anything other than more trees to all sides, nor were they likely to meet cars on the trail at night.

  Starsky stumbled, lurching against him, and Hutch concentrated for a moment just on righting him, making sure he was okay.  It took two queries to elicit a single heavy nod.  Hutch redoubled his efforts to find something, anything, in the area. 

  That was probably the only way he saw the cave.  Actually, “cave” seemed a euphemism.  It loomed about 50 feet off the road on their left, only a deeper splash of black until Hutch briefly left Starsky to dart in for a closer look.  It wasn’t much, a natural depression in one of the many small crags that lined the road, but it seemed several feet deep and with enough brush woven above and around it to provide some dryness and warmth. 

  Hutch returned to the road and his sodden partner to find Starsky swaying where he’d left him, his good arm wrapped around himself in a futile effort of self-warming.

  “Starsk, I found something.”

  “T-town?”

  “Not yet, buddy, but at least it’s a dry place to spend the night.”

  “Soun’s g-good.” 

  He didn’t waste any more words, just curled an arm around Starsky’s back and slowly led the way. 

  The cave was even less substantial than it had looked at first glance, but Hutch had never seen a more welcome sight.  It proved to be about five feet deep, and about as wide.  Not enough for even comfortably stretching out in, but if he worked it right...

  It took no coaxing at all to get Starsky to settle on the ground, the brunet dropping as if he had no more strength to stand even if he wanted to.  Which he probably didn’t.  He leaned against the rough rock wall, badly shivering and occasionally biting off a moan as the movement jarred his healing shoulder.  His eyes drooped with exhaustion and he didn’t provide any resistance as Hutch gently worked the sling off, followed by the soaked jacket.  The edges of his shirt underneath were wet and the whole shirt damp, but it wasn’t freezing and drenched like the coat.  Starsky needed the warmth so Hutch left it on.  He dug the blanket out instead and draped it over Starsky’s shoulders, encouraged when his partner wrapped cold fingers around its edge to pull it closer around himself. 

  “That help?” he asked quietly. 

  A nod, jerky with shivers of cold, and a wan smile.  “Din’t figure on g-gettin’ wetter ‘an the f-fishes.” 

  Hutch grinned widely at that, relieved at the humor.  “Yeah, well, too bad we lost our catch.  Mine could’ve won some prizes--she was a beaut.”

  “Yeah...prize f’r s-smallest fish,” Starsky managed to get out before tapering off in utter fatigue.

  Hutch grew sober as he stripped off his own dripping coat.  “Your arm hurt?”

  “S-some.” 

  “Anything else?”

  “‘M okay.  T-tired.”   He was down to single words and his eyes had drifted shut.  Hutch didn’t push for any more. 

  There was no room for a fire and no other options for warmth but one.  Hutch undid his holster and slid it off to rest by his side, then settled himself against the back wall of their shelter, getting as comfortable as he could with the mossy stone behind him.  Then he lugged Starsky close against him, turned sideways against his chest so that his legs stretched out under Hutch’s raised knee, his bad arm resting against the blond’s thigh.  Hutch pulled the blanket tight around both of them, beginning to relax a little as the shared warmth started to penetrate them both and Starsky’s shivers began slowly to abate.  When the damp curl-covered head settled wearily against the crook of his neck, he finally let himself begin to give in to his own fatigue. 

  The drowsy voice was too familiar to startle him even with its unexpectedness.  “If you tell anybody I spent th’ night wi’ you...”

  He laughed, shaking them both with the movement.  “Idiot.  Go to sleep.”

  “Thanks...”  Starsky’s word was only a sigh, already more gone than not.  

  Hutch found himself unexpectedly dispirited by the gratitude.  He was already cursing himself the fool for brilliantly suggesting that trip, pushing Starsky’s healing system to its limits however inadvertently.  And for what, to mend something that wasn’t broken?  At least, not in Starsky.  He’d had his sober moments as slow recovery and realization of how close he’d come occasionally hit hard, but on the whole Starsky had taken it all in stride like he seemed to most of life, good and bad.  Only Hutch couldn’t seem to let it go as easily, fighting lingering memories and nightmares of Starsky shot, helpless, dying.  Ironic, Hutch thought, that he hadn’t even been touched and yet he was the one taking longer to heal...

  But the unexpected weather hadn’t been his fault, nor what happened with the car.  The energy drain and shock was undoubtedly a setback in Starsky’s recovery, but Hutch had truly meant well when he’d suggested the fishing trip, a little bit of lightening for both of them.  He sighed, shutting his eyes tiredly.  Worry and fatigue were clouding his thoughts.  Things would surely look better in the morning. 

  And for now, he had a living, breathing partner there with him.  Hutch could feel the slow rise and fall of the chest against his arm, the inhalations brushing his neck.  If he had that, he would somehow manage the rest. 

  In the midst of listening to the quiet sounds of life, he fell asleep. 

  Dawn came with dismal gray light and a continuing drizzle of cold rain.  Hutch found himself staring absently at it for some time through the meager shelter of hanging branches before he realized he was awake.  And still in the cave with his convalescing partner. 

  He didn’t think he’d moved, but Starsky stirred all the same against him, perhaps simply in tune with him as they usually were with each other.

  “Morning,” Hutch said.

  “Mmm.  Still raining?” was the drowsy response.

  “‘Fraid so.”  He shifted a little to help as Starsky cautiously sat up.  “How do you feel?”

  Starsky wrinkled his nose in comic, reassuring complaint.  “Wet.”

  Hutch couldn’t help but smile at that.  “Usually comes with rain, buddy.” 

  The answer was muttered too low for him to hear, but he could guess at the meaning.  And the fussing was good cover for the bit of awkwardness as they disentangled limbs and got a little less intimate.  Starsky kept up the aggravated mumbling throughout the process of Hutch reattaching his sling and getting it properly adjusted.  It was music to Hutch’s ears after the pained, exhausted silence of the night before. 

  Then he wrapped the blanket around Starsky’s shoulders again and stood, staring out at the rain with resignation. 

  “I was thinking, that town’s probably pretty close by now.  I can hike it and rent a car while you wait here, then come back and pick you up.  No point in both of us walking in this.”  He turned to peer down at his partner. 

  Starsky just shook his head as he worked one-handedly on straightening out his half-dry jacket.  “Uh-uh.  I’m not staying here and you’re not goin’ by yourself.  ‘Sides, trail’s probably soup by now; you’re not gonna be able to drive back in.”

  Hutch had opened his mouth to disagree, but shut it again, reluctantly acknowledging there was some truth to the last.  He crouched down to eye-level with his partner.  “Starsk,” he hesitated.  “You need the rest, not hours of walking and getting soaked and chilled through.  The doctor said--”

  “He didn’t say I should wait in a drafty cave in wet clothes.  I’m goin’, Hutch,” Starsky stubbornly stared him down. 

  Hutch sighed, shoulders sagging under the inevitable weight of yet more cause for worry. 

  “Hey,” Starsky’s soft voice brought Hutch’s head up.  Gentle eyes soothed some of the load away and his partner grinned at him.  “I had a warm bed, soft pillow--” he winked, “--I’m probably readier to go than you are.”

  “‘More ready’,” Hutch automatically corrected. 

  “See?”

  Hutch snorted, shaking his head.  “Dummy,” he said fondly.  What could you do? 

  A few minutes later, packed up, the meager morning ablutions over and with the blanket wrapped around Starsky under his jacket, they resolutely set off into the rain. 

  This time Hutch walked next to his partner from the start, one hand always holding on.

  The town was, in truth, not much farther, perhaps three more miles down the mud road by Hutch’s estimation.  It had been too far for them to have reached the night before, but he was grateful for its proximity because even with the rest and short hike, Starsky was already clearly feeling it.  His steps were lagging again despite his efforts to hide it, and he was continually shivering, leaning against Hutch with resigned fatigue.  Conversation had once again shrunk to energy-saving monosyllables.  

  So the sight of the first houses was a profound relief, perhaps even more for Hutch than for his partner.  One of the closest buildings was a diner, and Hutch headed them both immediately toward it.  

  The door jingled as he pushed it open, drawing the attention of the few patrons inside, but he ignored it as he all but manhandled his saturated friend into the closest booth.  Starsky curled up in the corner of the green vinyl bench at once, giving him a tired smile that reassured far less than it was apparently meant to. 

  A fresh-faced teenage waitress came by.  “Looks like you two’ve been in the rain for hours!  Would you like some coffee to warm ya up?”

  Hutch relaxed a little.  “Uh, thank you, that sounds good, but would you have some hot tea with lemon for my friend?  And something warm to eat, too, if you could.  Maybe some scrambled eggs and toast?”

  “An’ soup,” was added hoarsely from behind him.  Hutch turned, wrinkling his nose.

  “For breakfast?”

  “Dinner, last night.  Eggs are b-breakfast.”  The familiar childlike petulance lost something with the continued shivering and winces that accompanied the motion. 

  Hutch turned back to the girl.  “You heard the man, whatever soup you happen to have,” he gave an indulgent shrug. 

  The waitress smiled, nodding at him.  “How ‘bout for you?”

  That brought him up short again.  Truth be told, he wasn’t all that hungry, far more used to going without food than his partner was.  Not to mention that eating just sounded like too much effort, a problem Starsky never seemed to have.  “Uh...well, coffee’s enough for me, thanks.” 

  She bobbed her head once and disappeared. 

  Another glance at his partner showed that Starsky had curled up even tighter into the padded seat, hunched into his wet clothes and cradling his arm again as he began to nod in the diner’s warmth.  “Starsk?” Hutch slid into the booth next to him.

  The blue eyes startled open, blinking at him. 

  “I’m going to go try to find us a car, maybe something dry to wear, okay?  I’ll be back before you’re done eating.” 

  “Don’ forget the s-squash,” the brunet yawned back at him, flinching as an aborted stretch pulled something but apparently too tired to mind it much. 

  “Yeah.”  Hutch somehow doubted Starsky would be awake enough to eat when the food came, no matter how hungry he was.  Hutch half-smiled at the thought, patting his partner’s good shoulder before he rose and went out into the rain again.

  His quest turned out to be easier than he expected; only a few doors down was a mechanic’s shop labelled simply “Jason’s Garage.”  Jason proved to be the graying owner who amiably agreed to rent them a car and, after some explaining and discussing details, find a way to get the LTD out of the river.  Hutch thanked him and next found his way to the local Woolworth’s, where after some debating and silent mulling, he finally decided clothes weren’t worth the trouble and settled instead on two thick blankets.  On the way back he picked up the old Ford waiting for him at Jason’s, a cousin to his own waterlogged car, and drove it up to the diner’s door. 

  He was singularly unsurprised to find the waitress standing next to their booth, uncertainly watching Starsky.  The brunet had fallen asleep on the table, his good arm cradling his head, the untouched food spread out around him. 

  Hutch laughed once at the sight, shaking his head.  He slipped in next to his partner again, pulling the blankets out of the wet bag and tucking them both around the sleeper, then shaking him gently awake.  “Starsk, soup’s on.” 

  “Hmm?”  Eyes fogged with weariness, a state that was beginning to be the norm for Starsky, blinked at him for a moment before glancing fuzzily at the food.  “Oh.”  He eased straighter, noticing the blankets just then and giving Hutch a quick smile of thanks, then started in on the tea. 

  Eating seemed to revive him a little and the warm tea eased the worst of the shivering, but by the time Starsky got to the soup, the energy spurt had been used up and he was beginning to sag back into the seat.  Hutch had been keeping up the mostly monologue until then, sipping at his coffee as he finally felt himself warm through a little, too.  But when the soup was half gone and Starsky looked like he’d slip under the table to the floor at any given moment, it was time to leave.  The girl brought the check and Hutch left her a healthy tip, then bundled his drowsy partner out into the car. 

  Only on the way home did Hutch finally begin to relax.  With the windshield wipers swishing in hypnotic rhythm and the heat turned up high, it had taken no time at all for Starsky to fall completely asleep, eventually sagging against Hutch’s willing shoulder.  He pulled the sliding blankets higher up around Starsky’s shoulder and listened once again to the quiet breathing barely audible over the splatter of the rain and the rattling car. 

  Life, precious and frail.  And strong.  They had been on quite an adventure and, looking at the lines of strain on Starsky’s face, one Hutch wouldn’t have wished on his half-healed partner, but it had turned out okay and Starsky was still with him, safe, alive.  Hutch had had to remind himself of that a lot in the previous two weeks.  Starsky’s equally stupid idea for a late night dinner had also gone awry, but life had survived even that.

  The city was only an hour away, not that Hutch couldn’t have easily listened to those soft sighs of sleep all day, now that they were safe and together.  Fragile peace settled on Hutch’s heart, and for now that was enough. 

  Starsky barely moved the whole trip home, so deeply under that it took several tries to rouse him once they’d pulled up in front of his apartment.  Once he’d rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, though, and thoroughly scratched his hair and chest--much to Hutch’s amusement--he went up the stairs on his own without need of a navigator. 

  “Bath or bed?” Hutch asked as he shut the door behind them and tossed Starsky’s keys on the nearby endtable. 

  “Both.”  He had rallied on the trip up the stairs, looking fully awake for the first time since that morning despite not having lost his half-drowned look. 

  “Get out of the wet stuff.  I’ll run you one,” Hutch responded immediately, giving his partner a gentle shove toward the bedroom as he himself headed for the bathroom. 

  A few minutes later he emerged to find a trail of blankets and shed wet garments leading past the bathroom, and he followed it resolutely, gathering up the items as he went.  By the time he got to shorts, the trail ended in the limp form of his partner bundled in a robe and sunk down onto the edge of the bed.  Hutch raised an eyebrow at him. 

  “You need any help?”

  “How ‘bout a new body?” Starsky glanced up at him ruefully. 

  Hutch’s eyes clouded.  “That bad?” 

  His partner smiled at that, fond and convincing.  “Naw, nothing some sleep in a dry bed won’t cure.  And a pizza?” he tacked hopefully on to the end.

  “You’re hungry again?!”

  “Not really, just wanted t’see what you’d say.”  The grin widened, but the blue eyes shone with something softer. 

  “You look flushed,” Hutch couldn’t seem to stop fussing.  “Probably comin’ down with a fever after being soaked.”  What had the doctor said about a depressed immune system? 

  “Probably,” Starsky allowed disinterestedly.  “I’ll call Jace in th’ mornin’.” 

  “You want me to--”

  “Don’t worry about me so much, Hutch,” the soft words cut him off. 

  The “I can’t help it” slipped out before he could censor himself, though he doubted it was any secret.  Starsky had the decency not to comment on the red he’d certainly blushed, just smiled at him with that tenacious affection and straggled to his feet and out to the bathroom, squeezing Hutch’s shoulder as he passed. 

  Hutch finished the rest of clean up through stubbornly blurry eyes. 

  When Starsky finally emerged in a cloud of steam, it was with a languidness that unbent Hutch a little, too.  He’d fixed tea and dug some cookies out in the meantime, a combination he had no doubt his partner would find to his bizarre taste, and wasn’t disappointed as Starsky polished both off with speed and a grateful look.  The aspirin Hutch had fetched for the fever was taken equally without protest.  But the turned-down bed he’d prepared earned him a doubtful look. 

  “You’re not gonna tuck me in, too, are ya?”

  “If that’s what it takes...” Hutch said warningly. 

  Starsky made a face at him but willingly went, making a show of pulling the blankets up around himself. 

  “Wait, before you get too comfortable, let me take a look at your shoulder.”

  A sigh of exasperation.  “I told you--”

  “I know,” Hutch interrupted, “I just want to make sure.” 

  One more martyred glance, then Starsky submitted himself for examination. 

  The wound was the angry red Hutch knew from the past two weeks of helping his partner change bandages and dress, but there seemed to be no sign of re-injury or further damage.  Still, he stared at it with revolted fixation, remembering the hole that had spilled blood onto his fingers and soaked every bandage he’d packed on it.  He’d never been as terrified by blood as when his partner’s had coated his fingers, like watching Starsky’s life stream away. 

  “See?  Told ya, Roy Rogers gets it there all the time,” Starsky’s soft voice brought him back to the present.  Hutch blinked hard before he met his friend’s gaze. 

  “Thought you said it was Gene Autry,” he shakily answered, his heart and mind not really on the banter. 

  “I’m okay now, Hutch.” 

  “You keep telling me that,” Hutch protested. 

  “You keep needing to hear it.  And I’m glad we went fishing.” 

  Hutch pulled the covers back up over the scarred shoulder, not able to suppress an ironic laugh.  “Sure, hiking through the rain and mud in the middle of the night is my idea of a good time, too.” 

  Starsky shrugged unconcernedly with one shoulder, then fought a yawn before answering.  “Hey, we wanted to get away from it all, right?  Spend some time together?  ‘Sides, it wasn’t so bad in the cave.  You always take care of things.” 

  “Me?” Hutch stared at him in surprise.  “You forgetting this whole mess was my idea in the first place?”

  Starsky was getting sleepier but his eyes shone with the awareness of what he was saying.  “It was a good one.  I wish you hadn’t’ve had to carry me a little back there, but you’re gettin’ pretty good at that.  Thanks.”  There was a whole heartful of gratitude and love in that one little word.   

  Carrying him--as if that weren’t a part of their job description.  Like Starsky had carried him through his dreadful divorce, through various injuries, through the days after Forest, each time his life fell apart and he struggled to put the little pieces back together. 

  As for now, well, demons always died slow deaths.  But having been able to really do something this time, and to hold his partner and feel life strengthen in him instead of ebbing away, had done more good than he could say. 

  He didn’t have to.  Starsky patted him on the leg in complete understanding.  “Go on and take a shower and borrow some clothes, then go home.  You’re gettin’ my blanket all wet.”  He hesitated, staring hard at Hutch.  “Unless you wanna stay.  You can have half the bed...”

  It was an offer not to allay his fatigue, but his fears, as he had the first night Starsky had returned home.  But Hutch found with honest surprise that he didn’t need it this time. The trip hadn’t really been a setback--no doubt he would be motherhenning for a few days still, but the heavy threat of death was dispersing with time and reassurance.  And he’d gotten a lot of both in the last twenty-four hours. 

  He shook his head, standing as he did.  “Uh-uh, I’m okay.  But I’ll stop by tonight with some dinner, huh?”

  Eyes already closing hitched up briefly to look at him, humor sparking to life.  “How ‘bout some fish?  ‘S only way you’re gonna have any if you only eat what you catch...,” he slurred off. 

  “In your dreams, dirtball,” Hutch snorted.  Then, soberly, “Thanks.”  He thoroughly meant it, too. 

  Starsky’s mouth quirked into a smile that carried on into sleep.  And becalmed and warmed despite his damp clothes, Hutch crept out of the room and shut the door behind him.